


A Candle Bright

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Sod It All: Dis Brosca x Alistair Theirin [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Redcliffe, Satinalia, Team as Family, The Blight (Dragon Age), Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Brosca is unfamiliar with many human traditions, Satinalia chief among them, but at least she's in good company.  There are worse ways to spend a holiday than with companions, mud, and... mistletoe?





	A Candle Bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonlightBrunette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightBrunette/gifts).



Dis Brosca let out a small sigh of relief as they crested the hill overlooking Redcliffe, its largest windmill coming into view.  Thin wisps of cook-smoke filtered up from the houses below, and a distinct sense of calm came over her as she noticed fishing boats going to and fro on the lake, horses and carts moving in the streets.  It was very different from their first arrival, where the town had felt tense and anxious long before they had spoken to any of the villagers.

“They seem to be recovering well,” said Wynne approvingly, gazing down the half-mile path to the village square.  “I see they have repaired much of the damage done by the dead. In so short a time, too. I am glad for them.”

“Sure, sure, good for them,” said Oghren, who had not visited Redcliffe before.  “Real question is, how’s the ale here?”

“It’s not bad, but we’re only here for the night, Oghren,” said Dis, her breath clouding in the cold air with every word.  “No Dust Town dancing.”

“What’s that, then?”

“When a stupid noble gets so drunk he wanders into Dust Town and gets robbed by every man, woman and child.  Like he’s dancing with all of us, right?”

Oghren groaned.  “You dusters can ruin anything fun,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“We try.  Can’t let you nobles be the only ones to step on people.”

“ _Disgraced_ noble, runt, and don’t you forget it.”

Alistair glanced down at them both as they walked.  “You know, I’m never quite certain if one of you is going to stab the other.  Does this banter count as friendly?”

“For dwarves, it does,” assured Oghren.  

“Absolutely,” said Dis, nodding.

"If you two say so,” he said as they descended into the outskirts of town.  “Looks rather nicer than before, doesn’t it? Like I remember as a boy. And oh -- just look at it!  They’ve even started with the Satinalia decorations!”

“The what?” Dis mouthed to Oghren, who looked as befuddled as she felt.  She noticed that there were odd things strung up on the fences along the road -- paper lanterns not yet lit, boughs of thick dark green plants, bunches of red and white berries and gold ribbons tied to posts here and there.  Some kind of ritual, perhaps? It didn’t look exactly magical, though.

“And what is Satinalia?” asked Morrigan from behind them.  Dis considered. Not magical, then. If Morrigan didn’t know either, perhaps it was something to do with the Chantry.  

Sten turned to Shale.  “I am also not aware of the meaning of this word.”

“As if _I_ would know half the things the fleshy little ones speak of,” scoffed Shale.

“Their chatter is largely forgettable.  I recommend paying it little mind,” said Sten.

Leliana, bringing up the rear with Dhargus and Zevran, let out a soft gasp.  “You mean that you do not know the stories of Satinalia? In Orlais, it is a time of beautiful celebration and reflection, a time to spend with friend and family alike.”  The mabari woofed, a mournful dirge of a bark.

“Perhaps that is how they celebrate in Orlais, but ah, the revelry of Antiva City,” mused Zevran.  “Do you know that in Antiva, men and women flood the streets completely in the nude? The debauchery is truly something to behold!  And behold one does. There is great merriment and joy in that week. Of course, there is also much shame and atonement in the week following!  It is a glorious time of the year.”

“So the tales of Antivan celebrations are true,” said Wynne, arching an eyebrow slyly.  “I’ve always wondered.”

“Was there any doubt, my dear enchanter?”

“Is somebody going to explain what Satinalia actually _is_?” asked Dis, neatly sidestepping a large mud puddle that Ogren tramped through obliviously, nearly splattering Morrigan.  

While avoiding Oghren’s mud splatters, Dis still managed to catch sight of the decorations extending to the houses on either side of the path.  Red candles on tin plates clustered on their small doorsteps, and boughs of evergreen hung over their front doors.

“It’s a festival!” said Alistair.  “To mark the start of winter. Winter’s such a dreary affair that you’ve got to have something to brighten it up a bit, haven’t you?  Hence the candles and the decorations. There’s gifts and feasting too. Last year with the Wardens we gave each other games and books and all sorts of things to keep from being too bored when there aren’t any Darkspawn around.  Of course, this year we haven’t got that problem….”

“There _is_ quite a bit more to the tradition than simple gift-giving and celebrating the start of winter,” said Wynne.  “The religious significance has roots in ancient Tevinter.”

“That is true, but the meaning has changed with time.  The celebration of Satinalia goes back hundreds of years.  The story is quite a fascinating one, I know many ballads that I can sing for you if you like --”

“Red, if you’re singing, and I’m listening, we need ale,” said Oghren.

Shale groaned.  “If that is where it and its companions are heading, I will await outside.  I have noticed humans get disturbingly upset when a golem smashes through the front door.  Ugh, they can be so shrill! I do not understand how something so small can make such noise.”

“Your understanding of the human condition is touching, my friend,” said Wynne.  Shale let out a gravelly chortle.

“Going to have to agree with Oghren here.  The inn sounds good,” said Dis, who was shivering by this point in the chill air.  “For not having snow on the ground, it’s cold as a Paragon’s balls in here.”

“Cold?” questioned Zevran.  “What a peculiar expression.  In the usual way of things, they should be quite warm.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Zevran.  Anyway, the only Paragons I’ve ever seen before Branka were made of stone, so….”

“Ah!  Of course!”

 

***

 

Three ales, six hundred years of history, four ballads, and half a game-and-veg pie later, Dis thought she had Satinalia down pretty well.  She hefted herself off her chair and made her way to the innkeeper’s bar, pouch of coppers in hand. She took a few long looks at the decorations lining the area, nodding to herself.

She returned feeling inordinately pleased, and laid down her new treasures on the long table before her companions.  “Take your pick,” she declared.

“You persuaded the innkeeper to sell you his decorations?” mused Wynne.

“Yep!”

“How lovely!” said Leliana.  “You must be feeling very festive.”  She reached out and took a circlet of soft green-needled twigs, resting it atop her red hair.  

“I fail to see the point of such trinkets, but your enthusiasm is almost… charming,” said Morrigan cautiously, reaching out and pinning a sprig of shiny holly to her feathered sleeve.  “I suppose it is harmless enough.”

Sten coolly regarded a pair of leaf-shaped cookies wrapped in waxcloth, sneaking them to his side of the table when he thought no one was looking.   Wynne took a necklace of red berries strung together, Zevran a brushy green circlet like Leliana’s, and Alistair a sprig of evergreen. He struggled with a moment getting its pin into the thick leather of his tabard.  

“Let me,” Dis said from her seat beside him, and Alistair handed her the pin.  She carefully poked the needle through the leather, leaning her hands against his chest.  Which felt remarkably solid. Her hands lingered on his chest for a moment longer than perhaps they needed.

Was that pink in his cheeks?  She pulled away from him, clearing her throat, and focused on the objects in front of her.  She grabbed a tin crown painted gold. There were a few patches the paint hadn’t fully covered, but it still looked shiny and bright.

“So is this for the town fool?” Dis asked.  “Isn’t that part of it, Leliana?”

“Yes,” said Leliana.  “Traditionally each village nominates the town fool to rule for a day.  It is a very silly custom of the celebration, but one of its most beloved.”

“Who wants to be the fool?” asked Dis.

“Alistair may not want to be, but one cannot deny he is the natural choice,” said Morrigan with a small, satisfied smile.

“Oh, very nice,” said Alistair, pretending to be miffed.  “I’d say _you_ ought to play the fool, but a crown would look rubbish on such a mean-spirited person, anyway.”

“You all would make adequate fools,” offered Sten helpfully, swallowing a bite of cookie and ignoring his ale.

“Fool, eh?” said Oghren, cocking his head to one side.  “So you want me to wear what now?”

“Why, we have a volunteer!” said Wynne, raising her mug to him.

“Let us all hope he does not celebrate in the Antivan fashion,” murmured Zevran.  “Though the sight would make rather a good tale one day, would it not?”

Oghren ignored the elf.  The dwarf grabbed for the crown, jammed it firmly on his head, and leapt up onto his chair.  Even standing, he was only a little taller than the seated Sten and Alistair. He slammed a boot onto the table’s surface and grabbed his hips, sticking out his elbows and puffing his chest in a dashing pose.

“As king, I decree we order another round and plant our asses here for the night.  Who else is sick and tired of sleeping in the mud in a nug-blasted tent? And on Satinalia of all days!” he roared.

A hearty _Hear hear, o King!_ filled the air, and the innkeeper bustled over, red in the face.

“Would you get off my table already?” he snapped.

“Ahhh, hold onto your pants,” said Oghren, hopping back down.  He could be surprisingly spry at times, a fact he proved with an only slightly wobbly twirl.  “Another round then. To Satinalia!”

“To Satinalia!”

The innkeeper sighed.  “Another round it is, but you lot do realize Satinalia’s not for another week, don’t you?”

 _“To Satinalia_!”

The innkeeper shook his head and groaned, clearly wondering what he had done to deserve his fate.  Dis watched him go with a grin, finishing off the rest of her ale and grabbing a twist of white berries and shiny green leaves to fasten to a strap of her armor.

“Mistletoe, isn’t it?” Alistair murmured, gazing at her.  Was he blushing again? Maybe it was the ale.

“What sort of plant is it?  Do you eat it?” Dis asked, stretching her neck down to sniff at the berries.  Disappointingly, they had no particular odor, unlike the pleasant evergreen crowns and pins.

“Maker, no, you don’t eat it!  It’s poisonous,” said Alistair in a hurry.  “But it’s romantic in nature. Supposed to be an invitation for ah, ah, a kiss.”  Even the tips of his ears were scarlet. Ale didn’t do _that._

“Oh!” said Dis, fighting a swooping sensation in her stomach.  “Well, perhaps I chose wisely,” she said before she could stop herself.

“Oh!” echoed Alistair, suddenly shoving his face back into his mug and refusing to look at her.  “It looks very nice on you.” A funny thing for him to say, given that he was staring at the table as hard as he could.  His ears were _flaming._

“Gotta go!” Dis blurted.  “Need to tend to -- uh -- the dog!”  She got to her feet and dashed out of the inn, circling around to the back where Shale stood, Dhargus lolling at the golem’s feet.

She certainly hadn’t expected _that_ turn of events.

She shivered in the chilly night air, heart racing.  What in stone was going on? It wasn’t like Alistair wasn’t attractive, but this… giddiness, this nervousness, she felt was entirely unlike her.  Why didn’t she just tell him she wanted a roll in the dust and then move on, like she’d always done?

 _Maybe this means more than that_.  The thought came unbidden, but it felt heavy: it felt right. She blew on her hands, trying to warm them, and let the thought linger.

“Has it tired of its squishy games?” Shale asked, watching the starry skies.  “Come out to keep the poor golem company?”

“It was just getting rowdy in there,” Dis explained, relieved that Shale at least would no sooner pick up on her stammering and her flushed cheeks than hug a pigeon.  “Satinalia’s something else, I guess.”

“Of course.  I knew it could not be coming to visit _me_.  Ah.  Here comes another of its companions now.”

Alistair edged around the corner of the building, waving at her.  It was a little ridiculous, and at the same time intensely endearing.  “Are you all right?”

Dis bent down so that she wasn’t looking directly at Alistair, and petted Dhargus.  The dog promptly rolled into a mud puddle, his tongue hanging out the side of his gleefully open mouth.  “I just came out to check on him. Thought he might be lonely. Knew that Shale wouldn’t be,” she said, chuckling.

“It knows me so well,” said Shale fondly.

“Riiiight,” said Alistair, drawing closer.  He bent down as well to pet the dog, and she was acutely aware of the heat of him.  “Well, if you’re all right --” He hesitated, shoving his hands under his arms to warm them.  “It _has_ gotten rather cold, hasn’t it?”

“I still don’t understand your weather.  What’s the point? Why does it get so cold?  Who thought _rain_ was a good idea?” Dis rambled.  

“It’s got its uses.  Growing all the plants and food of the world, for one.  Tends to be a bit helpful for that.”

“I agree with the small one.  I despise the rain. I have been used as a shelter for shivering, sodden humans more than once,” said Shale in disdain.

Dis fell quiet for a moment, imaging herself and Alistair hiding from a storm.  Perhaps in a secluded cave somewhere without the others… perhaps there would be a need to remove one’s damp clothes to dry them before the fire… and perhaps there would be --

“That mistletoe does look lovely on you,” he whispered.  “It catches the moonlight.”

“I like your evergreen.  It smelled so _fresh_.  Nothing in Orzammar has ever thought of smelling like that.”

“I’m glad you think I smell nice.”

“You should be.”

They were close, now, far too close, both still crouching over the dog, their faces nearly at the same height for once.  She could see all the freckles dotting his nose and cheeks, the clarity of his hazel eyes, a small scar near his forehead she’d never noticed before.  She could reach out and close the distance between them, could finish this foolishness decisively with a kiss. She began to close her eyes --

_THWAP!_

“Oh ho!” cried Shale in delight.  “I’ve smashed the dreadful thing most thoroughly!”

Alistair startled, falling over on his side with his hand in the mud puddle.  Dhargus barked and rolled out of the way. “What the -- hang on, then, there aren’t any pigeons at night.  You smashed an owl!”

Shale looked down at the white feathers littering the ground, then shrugged.  “Do owls defecate on unsuspecting golems as they fly?”

“I suppose they could…”

“Well, so it understands.”

Dis sat there on her heels, fighting back laughter that threatened to burst out of her in gales.  She stood back up to her full height, then held out a calloused hand. “Come on then, Alistair. Let’s leave Shale to it, and get you cleaned up.”

Alistair shook his head, wearing a rueful expression as she helped him clamber up.  Once up, he towered over her as usual, wiping off the mud that had splattered all over him.  “Perhaps Morrigan was right after all. Do you think Oghren would relinquish his crown?”

“Not without bloodshed,” Dis said with certainty.  “But it could be pretty funny watching you two fight for it.”

“Fighting on Satinalia?  Or, well, the week before Satinalia?  Whatever would they say?”

“I dunno.  Sounds like a pretty good way to spend the holiday to me.”

“You’ve a strange idea of decorum, you realize.”

“Ahh, you like that about me.”

They came back to the door of the inn, which was festooned in garlands of evergreen and mistletoe.  Alistair reached over her to open the door, then paused for a moment, biting his lip as his hand rested against the door.  He looked down at her, smiling, the look in his eyes soft. “Yes, I do.”

 _Oh, sod it all._ She reached up, grabbed the edge of his collar, pulled him down to her height, and she kissed him.

It was clumsy, fleeting, warm, sweet, eager.  It was perfect. It was over too soon.

Alistair straightened back up slowly, his normally olive face ruddy as anything.  He opened his mouth. Tried to speak. Couldn’t come up with anything. Closed his mouth again.

“I like you too, if you’re wondering,” said Dis, trying not to giggle.  Dusters didn’t giggle. Dusters didn’t kiss humans and wear mistletoe and smell evergreens beneath the stars.  But _she_ did.  And she thought it suited her.  “Come on then. Back to the party?”

“I -- uh, right,” said Alistair.  “Yes. Very good. I -- you said you liked me?”

“Maybe Oghren _does_ need to step down from the throne.”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Alistair said.  “I’m not really this, what’s the word, inarticulate.  Just consider this me finding my bearings after a very pleasant surprise.”

“I can do that.”

He pushed open the door, and golden light and loud chatter spilled outward from the common room, filling the night air.  He grinned down at her.

“Happy Satinalia, Dis.”

“A happy Satinalia to you too, Alistair.”  

And they went back inside to the court of their king, the secret of the kiss burning between them, brighter than any candle.

**Author's Note:**

> For MoonlightBrunette! :) I hope this is enjoyable to you, your prompt said any OC and so I went with my favorite Warden. Happy Satinalia!


End file.
